


Call It What You Want

by Brenda



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fate & Destiny, First Meetings, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Romantic Fluff, smitten Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: On the way to New York for bereavement leave, Steve meets a kind stranger who changes his life forever. Modern day AU.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 65
Kudos: 299





	Call It What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a very old Tumblr prompt: _Bucky and Steve meet on a plane_

"You mind if I sit here?"

"Uh, no." Steve moved his knapsack off the chair next to him and glanced up to meet a pair of warm, brilliantly blue eyes staring down at him. The face surrounding them was movie-star masculine – sharp cheekbones, a square jaw, nice full lips - and was framed by long, dark hair pulled into a stubbed ponytail. It was a nice face – attractive, handsome, kind – one that invited a second look, and maybe even a third.

But it was those long-lashed, blue-blue eyes that captured Steve's attention.

They reminded him so much of his mother's eyes. Of comfort and safety, family and home. Everything he'd lost. Steve glanced away, forcing the stabbing pain in his gut down deep where it wouldn't hurt as much, and willed himself not to bolt to the other side of the gate.

"Sorry," the guy was saying as he shifted in a vain attempt to get comfortable, trying to cram an obviously muscular body into the smallish seat. (Steve'd had the same problem when he'd first sat down.) "Normally I'd pull up some carpet, but it's a little crowded tonight. Lots of people headed back to New York, I guess."

"Looks like," Steve replied, on polite autopilot. The guy had a great voice, too – rich and deep and just a bit rough around the edges. It was the kind of voice that made a person want to lean in, exchange confidences, use any excuse to keep the conversation going. Normally, Steve would have reacted in kind, engaged this good-looking, friendly stranger in a bit of small talk to pass the time. Maybe even tried his hand at flirtation, if the signals were right. But nothing about today was normal.

"Sorry," the guy said again, and stuck out a hand. "Where are my manners? I'm James. James Barnes."

"Steve Rogers." James had a strong, firm handshake, with calluses on his fingers that Steve surmised he'd either gotten from his job, or maybe from being handy around the house.

"Nice to meet you, Steve." James nodded at the camo knapsack and the Airborne patch sewn on the front of it. "You still serve?"

"Yeah. Got about a year left in my current tour." Steve had to remind himself to breathe. "I'm, uh...headed home. On leave."

James nodded, and a chunk of hair escaped the ponytail to fall across his forehead. He absently pushed it behind his ear. "Must be nice, getting a chance to see your family."

Steve's throat closed. White spots danced in his vision. The crowded waiting area seemed to tilt on its axis, like he was riding a roller coaster. There was a high-pitched roaring in his ears. He couldn't...he _couldn't_. He couldn't do this, he wasn't strong enough. He had to –

Those blunt-tipped fingers closed over his hand, stilling the tremors. "Hey. Hey, stay with me, Steve, just breathe, alright. Can you breathe with me?"

James, Steve's mind supplied, as he matched his breaths to the other man's, each one slow and steady and even. The stranger with the kind face and deep voice and his mother's eyes. 

His mother...

He screwed his eyes shut before the first tears could fall. "I'm sorry," he gasped, ashamed of himself for his loss of composure. He'd thought he'd be able to hold it together until he got to New York.

"Don't be," James replied, and squeezed his hand, the touch tender and comforting. "You need some water or maybe a stiff drink or a place to vent or...?"

Steve shook his head, and exhaled. Counted to ten, then twenty. "No," he said, when the rusty nails in his throat loosened enough for him to speak. "I'm okay."

"Look, I don't want to presume or anything, but you're about the furthest thing from okay I've seen in awhile," James replied, in the same kind, soothing tone. "And I know we just met, but I've been told I'm a pretty good listener. If you wanted to talk."

"Not really," Steve said, and let out a short, sobbing, ironic laugh. "But I guess it couldn't hurt."

James jerked his free thumb down the hallway. "We've got about an hour before our flight and I passed a little bar right next to the newsstand. I was planning on asking you for a beer anyway, so, if you wanted, the invite's open."

Steve raised his brows in confusion. "You were?"

"Yeah." James shrugged, those high cheekbones a little pink at the edges, the look on his face sheepish. "I know it's clichéd and all, but I saw you in the security line earlier and...well, let's just say you looked like someone I wanted to get to know better. It's why I asked to sit down next to you."

"Oh." It wasn't that Steve wasn't used to getting appreciative looks by both women and men. Even without the uniform, he knew what he looked like – big and blond and built like a tank. But he wasn't used to people _doing_ anything about it. Especially guys who looked like James – ones who looked like they'd stepped straight off the big screen or a glossy magazine cover. They didn't tend to come up to him at all. 

Beside him, James let out a good-natured sigh. "Fuck, you're straight, aren't you? Ah well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Just my luck."

"Uh, no, I'm bi, actually," Steve said, with a small smile. If this was a ploy to get him thinking about something else, it was working like a charm. He could _feel_ the hard knot in his chest loosening. "I just, uh...people are normally too, um, intimidated most of the time, I guess. By me. To hit on me."

"Then people are idiots, because you look like a marshmallow, no offense. I mean, one who could probably bench press me without breaking a sweat, and maybe punch through a wall or something, but you've got a really kind face. And a killer smile," James added, with his own killer, heart-melting smile.

"Thanks. You, uh...you too," Steve replied, and belatedly realized he was still holding James' hand. Or James was still holding _his_ hand. "I mean, your face. It looks – the first thing I noticed was your eyes. They're..." He paused, took another steadying breath to calm himself. He could _do_ this. "They remind me of my mom's. What they look – _looked_ – like."

James' gaze softened in sympathy. "How long's it been?" he asked, his voice careful and oh-so-soft.

"Two...two days." It hurt like hell just to force out the words. "I'm...that's why I'm on...to, uh, for the funeral."

"Jesus," James breathed. His thumb was rubbing soothing circles along the back of Steve's hand. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine what you must be feeling right now. Was it sudden?" 

"No, she'd been...she'd been sick awhile." It helped if he just focused on James' face and nothing else. "I was in Afghanistan when I got the news."

" _Jesus_ ," James repeated, compassion and empathy written all over him. "God, now I feel even worse. I am _so_ sorry."

"Don't be." Steve knew his smile was wobbly, but at least it was real. He couldn't help but feel grateful for it. "You're the first person I've told outside my chain of command."

"Well, let me buy you a drink anyway. We'll toast to your mom, if that's alright."

"It's more than alright." He didn't want to let go of James' hand, but he grabbed his knapsack and stood, then waited for James to do the same. They were almost the same height, and it was nice, being around someone he could more or less look in the eyes. "Thanks, by the way. I mean, for coming over and sitting down next to me. For not leaving when I got, well, y'know. Wobbly."

"My own mom would kick my ass – and I'd deserve it – if I ever walked away from someone in need," James replied, with another self-effacing shrug. "Besides, I get the feeling you'd have done the same for me if our positions had been reversed."

"Yeah," Steve admitted. "I would've." It was comforting, actually, to find someone else who thought of decency and solicitousness as an asset, rather than something to be ashamed of.

"I knew it." James smiled again, bright and open, and the last of the leaden numbness in Steve's chest faded at the sight of it. He didn't know why, couldn't explain it even to himself, but he _knew_ that he'd be okay as long as he could picture that smile in his mind.

"You, uh, you live in New York?" Steve asked, as they walked towards the bar.

"Yeah, Brooklyn, born and raised. I'm a mechanical engineer, so my work takes me all over, but I always come back home. You?"

"Same. Also from Brooklyn, and, uh, you know, it's home. Always will be."

"No shit, another Brooklyn boy," James marveled, with a pleased look. "I guess I do have good taste."

"I guess we both do," Steve replied, with his own smile.

"Hey, so you...do you have other family? Anyone that can help you with everything in regards to your mom and whatever you need to do?"

"No, it's always been just the two of us." He'd get by, though. He was a survivor, always had been.

"Yeah, no, that's not gonna cut it." James stopped, undeterred by the sea of people moving around them, and gave Steve a stern look. "I'll help you. Me and my family. Whatever you need, okay, you name it, it's done."

He looked so serious. Like he meant every word. Steve's throat closed again. "You don't even know me," he protested. "I'm just some guy you were trying to pick up at the airport."

"You're a son who just lost his mother and a soldier serving his country, and a nice guy on top of all that," James told him, gently, patiently. "I know enough. And besides, we have the whole flight to get to know each other better."

"How do you know we're even sitting together?"

"I don't," James answered, unconcerned. "But I'll make sure we get switched around so we do."

"I don't know if I'm glad I met you or a little intimidated," Steve said. But when their fingers brushed together, he was the one who wanted - rather fiercely - to grab tight to James' hand and not let go. Somehow, he didn't think James would mind if he did.

James' grin widened, like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking. "C'mon. Let's go get that beer and you can tell me all about your mom. Oh, and before I forget, my close friends and family call me Bucky, so you should, too. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Okay, Bucky," Steve replied, savoring the _rightness_ of the name on his tongue. "Lead the way."

Bucky found them a table, then stepped up to the bar to order their drinks. Steve used the time to try and put on his game face, to bring himself somewhat back to center. It was easier said than done, but he had plenty of practice in projecting stoicism to the world.

Bucky came back with two bottles of Stella, and dropped into the empty seat next to Steve. He passed Steve one of the bottles, and held his own up. "So, a toast to – what's your mom's name?"

"Sarah."

"Sarah Rogers." Bucky's smile softened around the edges. "I like it. Here's to Sarah Rogers, awesome mother to an amazing son, and a pretty incredible lady in her own right. May her memory be a blessing."

"Thank you," Steve managed, swallowing hard. So much for centering himself. "But how do you know she was amazing – you didn't even know her."

Bucky grinned, and raised the bottle to his lips for a long sip. "She raised you, didn't she?" he asked, once he'd set the bottle down.

"You still don't know me, either," Steve reminded him. The beer was cool and sharp on his tongue when he drank.

"I keep telling you, I know you just fine," Bucky said, and leaned in. "But you could always tell me more about her. And yourself. But only if you wanted to," he added, dropping his free hand over Steve's like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like holding hands with a stranger in an airport was something he did all the time – and, for all Steve knew, it might be. (But he didn't think so – he couldn't say why he thought that, either, but his intuition had never steered him wrong.)

"She's a nurse. _Was_ a nurse," Steve amended. "Pediatrics – she, um, she loved her kids. Well, she called them her kids, the, uh, the ones who were on her floor."

"LTAC?" Bucky guessed, with a small smile at Steve's surprised nod. "My cousin Mackenzie had leukemia when she was a kid. I know the ropes."

"Oh." Steve nodded again, and flipped his hand over so he could lace his fingers with Bucky's. "She's okay now?"

Bucky's grin brightened. "Yeah, been in remission over twenty years now. We got lucky."

"I'm glad."

"Was it...is that what took your mom?" Bucky asked, gently.

Steve shook his head, the grief threatening to overwhelm him once again. He wondered when - or if - it would ever stop hurting. "ALS."

"Jeez." Bucky tightened his grip on Steve's hand. "Hey, it's okay. We can talk about something else. Anything else. Bitch about how shitty the Mets are this year, or the Rangers terrible draft, or the Giants –"

Steve let out a sharp, surprised laugh, wet with tears. "My mom was a die-hard Jets fan."

Bucky winced. "Now you have my sincere condolences."

"Tell me about it." They smiled at each other in commiseration, and somehow, Steve could feel the abyss threatening to swallow him being held at bay by Bucky's touch and Bucky's voice.

"And you?" Bucky asked. "How'd you wind up in the service?"

Steve took another sip of his beer. "My dad served," he explained. "And I wasn't all that great of a student, so I figured college wasn't for me, and I thought maybe the Army would teach me a few real world skills."

"College is totally overrated," Bucky agreed. "And I've got two degrees, so I figure I'm an expert at how overrated it is."

"Mechanical engineer, right." Steve tilted his head, and studied Bucky's face. Even under the harsh fluorescent light, he was strikingly handsome. But it still wasn't what drew Steve to him like a pollen bee to a flower. It was that innate sense of _warmth_ that seemed to permeate Bucky's entire being. Bucky's palm was warm against his, an anchor tethering him to the earth. Comfort and safety, freely offered, freely given.

"I miss her," he sighed, and even though he could _feel_ the sob trying to claw its way out of his chest, the tears wouldn't come. Guilt weighed much too heavy on his shoulders. "I should have been there more for her. I should have taken leave. I should have –"

"Hey, it's _not_ your fault," Bucky said, in a firm voice. "And I'm sure your mom would have told you the same thing."

"She did, but –"

"Then listen to her. And me," Bucky said, and scraped his chair closer so he could wrap his arm across Steve's shoulders. "Come on, repeat it back to me."

"It's not my fault," he recited in a dull voice.

Bucky tsked. "Not good enough. I need you to mean it."

"It's not my fault." He said it a little louder, although he knew Bucky knew he was just faking it. 

Bucky lifted his hand to make a so-so motion. "I'm giving that a six out of ten, and I'm grading on a curve here."

"It's the best you're gonna get," Steve replied, but dropped his head to Bucky's shoulder. A gentle kiss grazed the top of his head, and it felt like a benediction.

"I'll take it." Bucky squeezed Steve's shoulders. "You know, I've never been much of one to believe in fate, but not even I'm dumb enough to thumb my nose at the universe when it's trying to tell me something. And me and you? Pretty sure we were meant to find each other."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Steve answered, heartfelt, the lump in his throat now due to simple gratitude. "I know I keep saying it, but thank you. For...everything."

"You don't need to say it," Bucky replied. "I'm still not gonna pretend I have any idea what you're going through, but you're not alone." His voice was soft, radiating compassion and sincerity. "I'm here."

He wasn't sure which of them moved first, but when he lifted his head, their lips brushing together, Steve felt the spark all the way to his toes. "I'm here for you," Bucky repeated, the next kiss - and the one after that - just as soft as the first. 

They stayed just curled together, quiet and comfortable, until they heard the boarding announcement for their flight. Steve met Bucky's eyes, and was grateful to see that same sense of peace and _rightness_ reflected right back at him. "Come on," Bucky said, as he stood and pulled Steve up with him. "We've got the whole flight home to cuddle."

"Sounds nice," Steve said, as he grabbed his knapsack in one hand, and Bucky's hand in the other.

Bucky leaned in to press his lips to Steve's, the kiss soft and sweet. "Don't worry," he replied. "I mean it, you've got me now, okay."

Steve wanted to stay right here, in this liminal space, soaking in Bucky's warmth and his kisses and that _kindness_ , and let Bucky carry some of the weight he'd been lugging around for as long as he could remember. But Bucky had a point - if this truly _was_ the universe trying to tell him something, well, Steve was listening. "Just so you know," he said, "whatever it was that put you in my path...I'm grateful."

"Me too," Bucky replied and, true to his word, held Steve close the entire flight to New York.

***

_(One Year Later)_

"Sure we can't change your mind about tapping out?" Dugan asked, just as the plane rolled to a halt.

"Yeah, I'm sure, Tim." Steve was grateful to the Army and everything it had provided him over the last eight years, but it was time to move on. Especially after the last year – after losing his mom and meeting Bucky and realizing he wanted something different with his life, something quiet. Sure, he still wanted to help others, still wanted to serve and give back to the community – but he wanted to do that while waking up next to Bucky every morning instead of relying on too-brief phone calls and short stints on leave where they never even left the bed. 

"Damn," Gabe whistled, from his window seat. "Rogers, I think your boyfriend brought his whole family with him."

Steve grinned as he stood to grab his bag from the overhead compartment. "You're just jealous they haven't adopted you yet."

"If you and your man ever do break up, I'm swooping in to nurse his broken heart and letting his mama fatten me up with those boysenberry muffins of hers. All I'm sayin'."

"I'll keep it in mind," Steve replied, and gave everyone a small, short salute as he exited the plane and headed down the steps to the tarmac, no longer a Captain and a soldier but a private citizen.

Bucky's family was all present and accounted for alright – mom, sisters, aunts and uncles and most of the cousins, all lined up and waving madly and holding up a big-ass glittery banner that read WELCOME HOME STEVE!!!!! But Steve really only had eyes for the man standing in front of them, wearing the denim jacket Steve had gotten him for Christmas, jeans that showed off those world-class thighs, long hair blowing in the breeze, and sporting that beautiful, wide, dimpled smile that made Steve's heart stutter. 

A smile that reminded Steve of sunshine and summer and every bright and good thing the world had to offer.

He lifted his own hand in greeting and started walking towards the group, already anticipating Bucky's arms around him, the excited chatter of Bucky's mom and sisters as they crowded around to join in the hug (everyone in the Barnes family was about as tactile and hug-y as it got) – 

\- then Bucky pulled a small box from his jacket pocket, and dropped to one knee. He flipped the box open as Steve stumbled the last few steps, almost tripping on his own two feet before he jerked to a halt. Right in front of Bucky, and the golden gleam of the ring shining from the box.

But the gleam, brilliant though it was, had _nothing_ on the light shining from Bucky's beautiful blue eyes. "So…uh…welcome home," Bucky greeted, with a small sheepish shrug and a hopeful look that made Steve's breath catch, then stop altogether.

Steve sank to his knees as well, dropping his bag, unnoticed, to the ground beside him. "Buck…" he started, certain everyone in a mile radius had to be hearing the way his heart was knocking in his chest. "What're you…is this…?"

Bucky's smile widened as he snagged one of Steve's hands with his free one and laced their fingers together. The touch callused and warm and _home_ in a way Steve couldn't quantify, but was grateful for every waking moment. "I was gonna wait until after dinner," Bucky said, his normally low, soothing voice wobbling with nerves. "Make a big production of it, do the whole nine yards. But then I saw you heading down the stairs and I didn't wanna wait another second to start our life together. That is, if you'll have me?"

"Of course I will," Steve answered, so fast he was sure he was slurring the words, because how could Bucky think, even for a second, that Steve would ever _not_ want what Bucky was offering. "Christ, Bucky, I'll marry you right now if that's what you want."

Bucky plucked the ring out of the box and held it up to the light, the brilliance of it still no match for the love and warmth in his gaze. "You've been cheated out of enough in your life, Steve," he stated, as he slid the ring onto Steve's finger, the weight of it new and different and perfect. "I'm not cheating you out of a big Barnes wedding."

Wherever Sarah Rogers was, Steve hoped she was looking down on her son in pride, knowing he wasn't alone. Not anymore. "God, I love you," Steve murmured, capturing Bucky's lips, the kiss gentle and sweet and slow.

Behind Bucky, his family started cheering and hollering anew, the best sort of background noise. Bucky laughed, clear and bright, the sound carrying in the breeze. "Love you more," he replied, then drew Steve in for another kiss that tasted like forever.

***


End file.
